A Horse With No Name
by Ichabod Ebenezer
Summary: Sam and Dean take a break from their research to hunt down a creature from Dean's bucket list-A Headless Horseman. But when they can't identify the horseman by sunset, they will have to defend its chosen victims without a means of killing it. And they don't yet know that all the tips in the lore will not help them this time. Celebrating Seattle's Supernatural Convention Year 3!
1. Chapter 1

The dry leaves were rustling in the tepid breeze as Kat entered the forest on her nightly jog. She never liked to be out alone at night, but it was too hot this summer to jog during the day. She came prepared for any unwanted attention though, with mace on a keychain jingling on her belt loop.

She couldn't wait to get out of this town. She had no specific plans, but she definitely didn't want to be a farmer—or worse, a farmer's wife. With those her only two real choices if she stayed, anywhere was better than here. Besides, once she had fought off each of the jocks on the football team, her dating prospects had dwindled to nothing.

For a moment, she thought she heard a second set of footfalls, and glanced back. No one else went jogging, at least she never saw them on her route. Except this time, there was someone. A male figure, thin and tall, wearing a hoodie in this heat. She couldn't see his face with only the light of the moon in the deep shadows of the forest. The path only skirted the forest though, she'd come out the other end in a few minutes, and she was confident that she could outrun him that long. She quickened her pace.

A minute later, she glanced back again. The man was still there, closer now. She ran even faster, but now, she reached for her keychain, pulling it out of her belt loop and easing her index finger up to the red button that would dispense the violent irritant.

"On your left," the man said, and pushed past her.

For a moment she saw his face, or at least his nose. Still it was enough to recognize him by. She'd seen him at school, though only ever at lunch and she had no idea what his name was.

As he continued past, she slowed her pace and let him have his lead. She reattached the mace sprayer to her belt loop.

Hoofbeats surprised her, and she barely had time to turn her head before horse and rider were upon her. It sped past close enough to force her off the path. "Hey! Watch it!" she yelled after him, but her words trailed off as she saw her own breath in the air. Her arm, where the side of the beast has brushed past her, was chilled, all the hairs standing on end.

She stopped, kneeling to touch the fallen leaves strewn across the path. Moonlight glinted off of ice crystals in horseshoe patterns along the trail. She took out her headphones and stood, peering around the bend in the trail where the rider had disappeared.

"Whoa," she said to herself. That had to rank as the weirdest thing that had ever happened in her admittedly short life, but she had no proof. Already, the ice was melting in the hundred degree heat. She would still tell Chloe tomorrow morning, even knowing that by afternoon it would be all over the school, and all the boys would likely be teasing her at cheerleading practice. Something like this was too good not to share.

She replaced her ear buds and continued her run.

Once she'd exited the shadows of the trees, the night was actually pretty bright. She looped around the edge of the forest and back toward town, when she saw that boy from before lying in the dry grass. He was splayed out in an unnatural pose, and entirely motionless. She had a sudden vision of the rider trampling him without even noticing.

"Hey, are you alright?" she called out. She pulled the headphone jack out of her phone and swiped up, ready to dial 911 if she had to. "Hey," she tried again, reaching for his shoulder, but she stopped there, a chill running through her body.

The boy's body ended at the shoulder. Blood spread from the ragged wound where his head and hood used to be.

Kat screamed into the night.

* * *

Sam had finally fallen asleep, slumped over the map table in the bunker, surrounded by books and empty coffee mugs. Days had passed since he last got any decent sleep, and biology finally caught up with him.

Dean came down the steps into the room, looking cheerful for the first time in ages. He drummed on the table with his open palms, startling Sam awake.

Sam sat bolt upright, a pencil falling from his cheek, leaving a deep crease.

"Rise and shine! We've got a case, Sammy!"

Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to separate dream from… whatever this was. "A case? Dean… Since when do we have time to take a case with everything that's going on? Or was I just dreaming that all reality is at stake?"

Dean's smile didn't waver. "Screw reality, Sammy. Screw the angels and screw the Jud-asswipes. We're doing this one. This one is on my bucket list."

"Your bucket list," Sam said. He exhaled heavily and tried to rub some life into his eyes. "Of course you have a creature-kill bucket list. Alright. What is it?"

Dean swiped his hand from left to right as if describing a marquee. "Headless. Horseman."

Sam pushed his chair back, taking a moment to process that. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Dean said. "Come on. With all the shifts in reality, all sorts of weird stuff has been popping up. That was that Penanggal in Peoria, the Naga in Riverside, and that Death Worm in Tucson. It's about time we got something good."

"But a headless horseman?"

Dean gave one exaggerated nod. "There was a witness and everything."

"Okay, fine. So, where are we going?"

"Hudson Valley, New York. Car's packed, so get some coffee in you." He clapped Sam on both shoulders. "Wheels up in five." Dean breathed deeply and patted his shoulders a little more lightly. "Make that ten. Take a shower. Change your clothes."

* * *

Half-way to New York, Sam had his laptop balanced on his knees, and he was holding his phone up to the window, searching for a signal. Dean took a curve at speed, and the book laying on the dashboard slid off. In his rush to catch it, Sam knocked his computer onto the floor.

He paused to collect himself, tamping down his anger and frustration. "Dean, could we just pull over somewhere? Preferably somewhere with WiFi? I can't help but think we're going into this a bit blind."

"No can do Sammy. It's a twenty hour drive from Lebanon Kansas to Upstate New York. I think I can make it in twelve." He looked down at his speedometer and pressed the pedal a bit further down. Baby purred throatily in response.

"Why the rush on this one?"

"Because it's fresh, Sam. I'm not letting this one get away. It struck last night, and there's no telling how long it will stick around. That and we've got a witness."

"What's the difference? Won't the witness still be there tomorrow if we show up—" Sam grabbed the dashboard as Dean swerved the bare minimum to avoid a squirrel. "—alive! Not to mention, having done the research."

"Come on, Sammy! I've been doing the research on this one since I was six years old. I've known how to kill one since I was nine."

"Alright then, catch me up. What's the lore say, outside of that Sleepy Hollow cartoon."

"Hey, don't knock the cartoon. Those cattails on the hollow log thing was genius." He smiled over at Sam to see his brother giving him the 'patience wearing thin' expression.

"Okay. Running water is his primary weakness. He can't cross it. Same thing with hallowed ground. If you make it into the cemetery, or a churchyard, you're gold."

"So far, that was all in the movie. Or maybe it was the Johnny Depp one. How do we kill it?"

"Hold your horses, Sam," Dean said, smirking at his own pun. "Iron can hurt it, even cage it. But to actually kill it for good, you need to dig up its head and pour salt in its mouth."

"And to do that, we'll have to figure out who it is."

"Exactly. And that's why we need to talk to the witness as soon as possible, while it's fresh in her memory. He's bound to be wearing a family crest or some insignia of rank."

"I hope so Dean. If she can't remember anything, what then? Between the Revolution and the Civil War, this whole area is one big battleground."

"We'll figure it out, Sammy. We always do."

Dean glanced at the clock and urged a little more speed out of the Impala.

* * *

"Have I ever told you, that you are the best friends a girl could ever have?"

The dry grass crunched beneath their feet in the late evening heat as Kat walked at the side of the road with her two friends. A glow hung in the west where the sun had set an hour earlier.

"Of course, Kat, it's not like we were going to let you walk alone," Emily said.

"Yeah," Chloe added. "Irv was being a jerk anyway. I wouldn't have wanted a ride from him, the way he was laughing with his friends." She gave her a reassuring smile. "We believe you saw the horseman."

Emily looked a little less certain, but she was there for her friend. "Was it really headless?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Kat said. "I didn't see its head anyway. I was too focused on the horse to be honest. That kid was definitely headless though."

All three of them shivered in the sweltering night air.

Kat couldn't get those frosty hoof prints out of her mind. She even just about believed she could hear the sound of the charging beast. A moment later, she realized she could. She whipped around. "Did you guys hear that?" she asked, eyes darting in all directions.

"Hear what?" Emily asked.

Chloe wrapped her hands around Kat's arm, her eyes going wide. "Don't even kid about it, Kat."

"Shh." Kat was sure now she heard it, but the sound of her own heartbeat was getting in the way. She tried to brush off Chloe's grasp.

She saw it! The horse's eyes glowed red, at least the one she could see. It was skirting the edge of the Christmas tree far, heading in their direction. "There! Look. Oh my God, run!"

She ripped her arm away from Chloe and took off as fast as she could, her soreness from cheerleading practice entirely forgotten.

Chloe grabbed hold of Emily's arm instead, letting out a yip of a scream. Emily peered into the darkness where Kat had been pointing. "Where?" she called out. The string of lights that fenced off the trees of the Christmas tree farm, and the slight motion of branches in the parched breeze were all she saw. "I don't see anything, Kat!"

Kat didn't turn to answer, she kept running in toward town. Somehow she knew the thing was back for her this time. It wasn't going to pass her by, it was going to take her head. If she looked back, she'd only see it leaning from its saddle, sword outstretched, ready to strike her down.

Chloe slowly loosened her grip on Emily's arm. "I _knew_ she was crazy." She looked back over her shoulder. "What is she running from?"

The wind whipped past the two of them with a sudden chill. It felt like a bus had just torn by.

Emily pulled her phone out. "I'm _so_ texting Irv about this."

Kat ran on. The pounding of hoofs seemed to be all around her, but the town was just ahead, and on the outskirts, the Tarry a'While coffee house would be filled with people at this hour. She took a turn through the sprinklers, pointlessly wetting the dead plants in the barren field. The neon sign of the coffee house was just past it.

The hoof beats grew more distant. Maybe she was wrong! Maybe it wasn't after her! _Oh my God_, she thought. _What if it got Chloe and Emily?_

She stopped where she was and looked around for the horseman, but couldn't see him. She looked back toward her friends, but decided not to head back. The horseman was still out there, and if he'd already killed them, she didn't want to be the one to find their bodies. What she could do was get help.

She ran again for the Tarry a'While, and as she hit the paved parking lot, she heard the hoof beats behind her again. She turned and saw the horse, it's eye glowing fiercely. The rider had no sword in hand, but reached out toward her with impossibly long arms.

She bolted with renewed speed, the door to the coffee shop just ahead of her. She burst through without slowing, and spun round, backing into the space between tables. The creature was charging straight for the door. "The horseman! It's here!" she yelled.

Conversations cut short and the townsfolk stared at her. Classmates with their books spread out between them peered past her toward the door.

She turned and ran for the back of the shop. "Kat?" called Ava from behind the counter. Kat paid no attention. She clawed at the back door, willing it to unlock, before turning on the women's restroom.

The glass entrance door shattered behind her, drawing attention from her. The lights flickered and went out. The room grew icy.

"It's real!" one of the patron's yelled, standing from his chair and staring at the equestrian intruder, a darker shape against the shadows of the room.

"What's real?" asked another. Still another screamed, and a fourth grabbed his companions and pushed them toward the exit as the phantom intruder pushed past tables on its way to the back of the restaurant.

Regardless of whether they saw it or not, people began panicking, running for the exit without heeding who or what was in the way. They poured through the broken door in their desperation to escape.

Outside, the Winchesters had just entered town. "Hey, Dean," Sam said, rapping knuckles on his brother's arm and pointing toward the fleeing crowd.

Dean made a hard right and pulled into the parking lot. They barely had the car stopped before both brothers stepped out. Sam grabbed the arm of one of the fleeing patrons."What's going on?" he asked.

The man tugged his arm away. "The horseman! It's in there!" he yelled and kept on running.

Dean popped the trunk, and grabbed a fireplace poker while Sam picked out a crowbar. They ran into the empty coffee house, scanning the overturned tables and glass-strewn floor.

"Where in there?" Sam said under his breath.

Dean leveled the poker at a door in the back of the room, hanging ajar. They approached the door slowly, and Sam pushed it open with the crowbar.

The ladies' room was devoid of horse and rider, but a young woman's headless corpse lay on the tile floor half in a stall.

"We're too late," Sam said.

Dean was on his phone. "Worse than that. I'm pretty sure that was our witness." He held his phone out to Sam, showing a grainy picture of a brunette cheerleader matching the dead girl's outfit. The headline under the photo read, "I barely escaped with my head!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Fish and Wildlife. Agent Logan. This is Agent Preston," Dean said, flashing his badge too quickly to be read.

"Sheriff Hendrick Moore," the sheriff said, shaking their hands in turn. "What the hell is your interest in this?"

"There's some indication that a wild stallion may have run these kids down. Tell me, sheriff, is there a stables nearby? Anyone own a herd of horses?"

"Abe Campbell's got a draft horse that pulls his plow, but that thing was old when I was a kid. That's the only horse I know around here. You two did notice that the victims are headless, right? You really figure a horse did that?"

Same let the sheet fall over Kat's body, standing up as he did so. The wound is ragged, as if the head was torn free rather than cut. This wasn't the work of a blade. I haven't examined the other body yet, sheriff. Will I find the same sort of wound?"

"Yessir, the boy's neck wound is just about the same. I still don't see how a horse could—"

"Sheriff, what can you tell me about this article in your local paper?" Dean held the phone up, but the sheriff didn't even bother to look.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "That _rag_ should be run out of business for printing that, if you ask me. Now, I don't want to hear you boys spreading any nonsense about a headless horseman. We may live in the wilds of the Hudson Valley, but we don't go in for wives' tales and fairy stories. You'll want Sleepy Hollow on the other side of the river about sixty miles downstream."

Dean pressed his luck. "Still, you have to admit the similarities in the stories."

"What similarities? The story took place in a Dutch settlement, while our town is mostly Scottish. There _may_ have been a horse involved, but I just spoke to a group of witnesses that never saw one. This is more likely just a matter of hysteria."

A deputy came over, and the sheriff spoke to him for a moment before turning back. "If you're done with the body, the coroner's van is here. Closest place to do an autopsy is two towns over."

"Yes, I think we're done here," Sam said. "Thank you for your time."

"One more question," Dean quickly cut in. "I didn't notice a cemetery on the way in. Are you going to bury them two towns over too?"

"No, the cemetery is up the hill off Birch Street."

"Birch Street… That's…?" Dean said pointing back the way they'd come.

The sheriff pointed in the opposite direction. "Two blocks north, then turn left. Look for the historical society building, and on up the hill."

"Thank you, sheriff," Dean said, peeling off his gloves and dropping them in a trash can as the two left the coffeehouse. Once they were alone, he said "Did you hear that? Historical society. You want to check that out in the morning, maybe find out who our horseman is and where he's buried?"

"I thought we'd both go. What are you planning to do?"

"Our witness may have died, but she was killed in front of a couple dozen people. Somebody had to see something that can point to who he is."

* * *

The brothers found a place to stay the night, and in the morning they went their separate ways.

Dean's first stop was the home of Ava Smith, attached to the coffee shop she ran. She was a tired woman with thinning hair and eyes that were shrewd but reserved. "All I saw is Kat come running in, yelling about a horseman. I was looking at her when the doors shattered, so I didn't even see that. It all happened so quick, because the next thing I knew, she was dead in my bathroom."

"I noticed you have one of those internet cameras set up in the corner. Would you mind showing me what it caught?"

She pulled out her phone and brought up the security app. "Damndest thing," she said, but trailed off to let the video speak for itself.

The door was just out of shot, but there was Kat, backing into the frame, clearly agitated. She turned and ran, with most of the patrons watching her go, when a shower of glass covered those closest to the door. They reacted to that, with people standing up, overturning tables and backing away. It seemed to move like a ripple through the room, and by the time everyone was standing, the ones toward the front of the room were already running for the exit.

"And that's it," Ava said as the people on screen started trampling each other in their rush to escape.

"Wait a moment. Can you back up a bit?"

"Sure thing. I've watched it a dozen times though. There's nothing to see." She played the video again.

"There! Right there. No one was sitting at that table. How did it get knocked down?"

She played it again. "Huh. Must have gotten caught on one of the chairs or something."

"And didn't that guy look like he got shoved from behind?"

"I suppose… But I still don't see what did it."

"Me neither. Ms. Smith, this is a small town. Did you know everyone that was in the Tarry a'While last night?"

"Sure I did. There were some cheerleaders from the school right over there, Mr. Fraser and his wife Claire, Mr. André the Christmas tree farmer—"

"Christmas tree farmer?"

"Yeah. The Three Sisters was good enough for everyone else around here, but he had to go farming Christmas trees."

She had her eyebrows raised like she expected some reaction. "Three sisters has always been enough for me. Anyway, I'm going to need a list of all their names, if you don't mind."

His next stop was the doctor's office where a number of the witnesses were being treated for various injuries.

"I didn't see anything," said Gavin Baltus. The owner of Baltus Towing was a heavyset man in suspenders and an oil stained cap. Dean found he kept getting distracted by the man's muttonchops. Gavin had been there with his two daughters, "but we were close the door, and managed to escape before people started pushing. I just got cut up when the door shattered is all. Twenty-two stitches in all," he said, holding up his left arm with its smattering of bandages.

Jamie Anderson, a young man with platinum tipped hair and a tattoo of an ankh on his neck, was there for a broken leg and bruised ribs. "I saw the cheerleader, of course, but she ran right past me, then everything happened at once. I heard the door shatter, while she was locking herself in the bathroom. Then everyone started screaming, and someone pushed me hard from behind and I fell to the ground. That's when I got trampled."

"And you never saw who pushed you? Who was sitting behind you?"

"Nobody sat behind me. It was a clear path to the door. I can't figure out who pushed me. Maybe it was the guy who killed the cheerleader. You're going to catch him, right?"

"We're going to do our best."

Ilsa Reid, a blonde cheerleader on Kat's squad, was in for a concussion. "Ow, mom! The bandage is fine. Stop messing with it." She looked back at Dean, or at least near him. She seemed to be squinting at a spot near his left ear.

"I don't know how everybody missed it. It was huge and black, and it just charged through the door like it wasn't even there."

"Can you describe the rider for me?"

"I can't remember much about the rider, I was too focused on that creepy-ass horse. It looked sick, but it was still huge and powerful. It was all black, but… I don't know it was like fungus was growing on it or something. It had like, yellow… roots, I guess, growing everywhere. And its eyes! They actually glowed red!"

The mother pulled her into a reluctant hug. "Officer Logan, my daughter suffered a brain injury. She's not crazy, it's just the concussion. If nobody else saw anything, I'm sure she didn't see anything either."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Reid."

Dean's next stop was the high school, where the principal pulled out two of the students, and one of the teachers for him to interview.

"No, she got it all wrong," Archie Baird told him. Archie hid green eyes behind thick glasses, and might have been good looking if he weren't so plump. "That horse was terrifying. Only it didn't have any skin—it was like it's muscles were all black, and that yellow stuff was its veins. Oh! And I don't think its teeth were normal. They were like fangs…"

"But what about the rider? Was he wearing any kind of insignia, or rank, or anything?"

"I think he might have been naked, actually…"

"I didn't see anything. Can I go?" said Brooke Webster, a short-haired blonde with six piercings in her right ear. She never met Dean's gaze, instead doodling on the corner of the desk the entire time they talked.

"I heard from a couple of witnesses that you were one of the first to react," Dean suggested.

"Yeah, well, Kat freaked me out. I was already ready to blow that scene when she showed up, raving like a lunatic. Then when the glass went flying everywhere, I was like, 'I'm out of here.'"

Reuben Selkirk, in a checkered shirt and v-neck sweater vest, was likewise impatient. "It's my by-class. This is the only chance I get to grade papers."

"We'll have you back in your class in a moment, Mr. Selkirk. I'm just trying to get some details on what you saw. I'm sure you can appreciate, one of your students has been murdered."

"Yes. Of course, but I already told Hendrick everything I saw."

"And I had some questions about that. Could you walk me through it one more time?"

"Someone on horseback was chasing Katrina Grant. He came crashing through the door. My wife and daughter were with me, so my only thought was to protect them."

"I understand. Did you get a good look at the rider?"

"No. The lights went out. I could see that he was holding something in each hand—not a sword though—branches or something. They were long, and forked at the end. Like claws."

"But what about his face, his clothing. Did you see anything identifiable?"

He shook his head. "Like I said, it was dark, and I just wanted to get my family out of there."

The day was getting long by the time Dean spoke to John André, a dark haired man in t-shirt and jeans, and owner of the Christmas tree farm.

"No, I didn't see the horseman," Mr André said.

Dean had heard this frustrating story all day long, and he clicked his pen, snapping his notebook closed. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course, I _never_ see him. I still know he's there, though."

"You… never see him?" Dean said, turning back toward Mr. André. "You mean he's been around before, but you didn't see him then either?"

"That's right. I've been telling Sheriff Moore the thing's been wilting my trees for days now!"

"And, how do you know it's the horseman and not just, I don't know, bugs?"

"On account of the security footage," Mr. André said. "That and the hoof prints."

"Can I see this security footage?"

"Sure, it's back in the trailer, but I've already shown it all to Sheriff Moore."

"Still, I'd feel better if you showed it to me too."

"Come along then," he said, heading back toward the trailer in the center of his forest of manicured fir trees.

"André—that's French, right? How'd you end up in a town full of Scottish folks?" Dean called as he followed the man between the trees.

"The land was cheap. I had a nervous breakdown back in the city. The doctors told me I needed to 'simplify,' and I figured farming was as simple as it got. This was right around Christmas one year, and when they showed the Christmas tree lighting at the White House, I had an epiphany. One of these years that's going to be my tree on their lawn."

He got to the trailer and reached for the latch, then turned. "Just not on a Democrat year, of course." He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving his galoshes at the door and proceeding in socks.

"Of course," Dean said. He was going to ask what André did back in the city, but as soon as he got inside the trailer, he knew.

The trailer was set up as an office, rather than the living quarters Dean had expected. And what's more, it was a nice office. The carpet was a tasteful tan, the walls paneled in oak. There was a broad mahogany desk with a plush leather chair behind it, and on the wall behind them were three framed certificates. The first from The New York State Bar Association, the second from Yale University, and the third proclaimed itself the "Oath of Attorney."

"So this is how a lawyer simplifies," Dean said.

André failed to explain, he simply nodded as he tapped at his keyboard, then swiveled the monitor around. "Watch the bottom left." He handed Dean a post-it note that listed a series of letter-number combinations:

LL 01:21:18

UR 01:21:47

UL 22:31:04

LL 22:31:22

UR 22:32:01

Dean noted the timestamp on all the cameras was synchronized at 01:21:00. André hit another key, and the video started playing. At the eighteen second mark, a violent gust of wind whipped the branches of his trees.

"And you don't think that was just the wind," Dean said.

"Look at the branches where it passed."

Dean leaned in closer. Despite the footage being in full-color, it was difficult to make out any changes, but then the needles started falling off the branches leaving bare sticks behind. "Huh," he said.

"Now watch the upper right."

The second camera had a longer view along another edge of the property. Right on cue, another fierce wind blew through along the length of the camera frame. Dean waited before commenting until the needles started falling off. "Same thing," he said.

"Except, look there, in the dirt."

Dean leaned in. "Hoof prints?"

"Hoof prints. And no, they weren't there a moment before. I could show you more videos over the following three days, but it's all the same."

"Just out of curiosity, what were you hoping the sheriff would do with this evidence?" Dean asked.

"Same as I'm hoping you'll do. Set a trap for the horseman. Kill it if you can."

* * *

Sam closed the door behind him and stood, exhausted and angry, in the entry way to their motel room.

Dean, sitting with his back to Sam, held up a beer bottle. "I spoke to seventeen witnesses today, only four of them saw it at all, and not a single one got a good look at the rider. Oh, and here's a fun fact to add to the lore: Horsemen don't show up on video."

Sam snatched the bottle from Dean's hand, twisted off the top and tossed the cap in the direction of the trash can. "I spent all day looking through a loose collection of articles in twelve volumes, and until two days ago, there isn't a single report of anyone dying from decapitation." He sat down at the table across from Dean and took a swig of his beer. "Oh and here's a 'fun fact,'" he added, doing air quotes. "This town was founded in 1885, Dean. Twenty years after the Civil War. There weren't any charges across these fields, no cannonade blowing people's heads off."

"So, how did this town end up with a horseman?"

"Hell if I know, Dean."

"Wait, are you saying you don't think it is a horseman?"

"I don't know, Dean. It would sure help if someone had seen it."

"Someone did see it, Sammy, and it got her killed!"

"You think it came back for her because she saw it the day before?"

"I'm saying that's what it looks like."

"Hang on. It doesn't show on camera. And you spoke to thirteen people who were there last night and didn't see it? Dean, that means there are four potential victims it will be coming back for tonight!"

Dean realized Sam was right. "But they're scattered all over town now. We can't protect all of them. We can bring them all together so we can watch them, but then aren't we doing the horseman's work for him?"

"What choice do we have? If we separate we can still only watch two. I think we stand a better shot of fighting this thing off if we're together."

"Fine. We'll get them all to come to the high school gym. We'll bar all the doors except one, and when it comes, we'll be ready for it." Dean counted back over all that, fairly happy with the plan, then paused. "Only one question. What do we tell them to get them there?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever we have to."

* * *

"Could you say that again?" Sheriff Moore said over the phone.

"We found reports of a Satanic cult working in the woods nearby. They are giving their victims a hallucinogenic substance and returning the next night to kill them. We need the addresses of the four witnesses who believe they saw some sort of creature last night." Dean winced as he spoke. The idea sounded preposterous even to him. And it was his idea.

"I've got to say, Agent Logan, that sounds a lot more plausible than that crap about a headless horseman."

Dean brightened. "Yes of course. Totally plausible. The thing is, we've managed to procure a few vials of antidote, but they have to be administered tonight, or there may be permanent side effects."

Sam tapped his watch impatiently.

"Yes that'd be very helpful. You can text us the list at 785-555-1204." He hung up the phone and turned to Sam. "I know. We're out of time, but the addresses are on their way to your phone. You go round them up, I'll get the school ready."

* * *

Dean yanked on the padlock, verifying that neither the chain, nor the door moved. His phone rang, and he brought it up to his ear on the way to the next door. "Where are you?"

"We're turning into the parking lot now. Which door is unlocked?" Sam said.

"The one on the left front of the gym. I figure it's the straightest shot for the horseman to take if he comes from the woods."

"Okay. Meet us at the door."

Dean hung up the phone and yanked on the padlock from the second door, then ran across the squeaky floor of the gym to the only entrance that wasn't locked tight. He pushed it open to see the Impala screech to a halt outside the door.

Sam got out and held the back door open. Archie Baird stepped out, while Reuben Selkirk stepped out the other side, and Finley Grant got out the passenger side back. Ilsa Reid followed Archie, and her mother came out after her.

The group jogged over to the open door. Dean stepped aside to let them in, but held the door in front of Ilsa and her mom. "Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder for the horseman who might appear any moment.

"You brought her mom along?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. She wouldn't let her daughter come alone. What's the big deal?"

"Witnesses, Sam. This thing comes back for witnesses. We still don't know who it is, so we don't know who to kill. Now, maybe we find it and kill it tomorrow, but maybe we don't. Either way, I don't want any witnesses for it to kill tomorrow."

Ilsa's mom gripped her daughter by the shoulders. "Wait, I though this was a hallucination… Just a little shot and she'd be… okay."

Sam turned to her, conflicted. "He's right. You can't come in. Look, we'll explain everything later, but for now, you've got to get as far from here as you can." He pulled Ilsa gently from her mother as he spoke, and ushered her inside the gym.

"Wait! No! You can't just take her!" the mother yelled.

Sam slipped in, pulling the door behind him. "I'm so sorry." Dean was ready with a folding chair and he dropped the legs of it behind the push-bar of the double doors. He nodded to Sam, patting him on the shoulder, before heading into the room. The doors flexed a few times as the mother desperately pulled on them.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Dean said over the noise. "That thing you saw, the thing no one else saw? It's real, and you're not crazy. Katrina Grant saw that thing, and that's why she ended up dead. It's how it picks its victims. For anyone who hasn't put it together yet, that means you four are next on its list."

Sam joined him. "The good news is, the two of us hunt things like this, and we're ready for it. By bringing the four of you together, we can defend you more easily."

Dean knelt down and unzipped a duffle bag, revealing a mass of pry bars, crowbars, tire irons, chains and pokers. He pulled a pry bar out of the bag and stood up. Ilsa, Archie and Finley backed away. "The horseman can be hurt with iron." Dean flipped the pry bar in the air and held it out. "If any of you can swing a bat, well, batter up."

He held it there, until finally Archie came forward and took it. Dean took a tire iron and a crowbar, handing the latter to Sam. The two of them stood with their backs to the others, facing the double doors. Mr. Selkirk came forward and took a crowbar. For a moment, he looked like he might try to use it on the brothers who seemed pretty crazy just then. Then Ilsa and Finley took their turn. Ilsa took a length of chain, twirling the end of it like a lasso. Finley took a poker and gave it a few good swings. Mr. Selkirk settled in, watching Sam and Dean for any tricks.

The mother's banging soon stopped. "You know she's going to the sheriff, right?" Dean said.

Sam looked apologetic, but said nothing.

Twenty minutes passed. The four locals settled in, tired of waiting. Mr. Selkirk was at the water fountain, rubbing a wet hand across the back of his neck. Ilsa was scrolling through memes on her phone. The Winchester brothers were still in position, watching the doors for any change.

The doors slammed inward, shaking the metal chair, knocking it to the side. The brothers spread out, but the four behind them bunched together.

Slam! The doors rattled again. One of the push-bars bent inward, and the chair fell to the floor. A third collision sent the doors flying. Ilsa screamed.

"Where is it? Dean, I can't see it!" Sam yelled.

"What are you talking about? It's right in front of you!"

The creature was reared up and pawing at the air with its front legs, eyes blazing red. The lights flickered and went out, and in that moment it charged straight at Sam.

Dean dove and tackled Sam out of the way as the beast galloped past. The rest of the group scattered, diving out of the way.

Emergency lights came back up, and Dean saw the creature fully for the first time. The descriptions of the jet-black, skinless horse were dead on. The tail was skeletal and wrapped in veins a fungal yellow in color. At first it looked like the rider had no legs, but Dean quickly realized that the rider was _part_ of the horse, his torso emerging from the middle of the horse's back. He too, was black and skinless, but he wasn't headless at all. If anything, his head was larger than normal. It was round and earless, with glowing red eyes and a mouthful of jagged teeth that wrapped around almost to its jawline.

One of its arm, three times normal length and ending in scythe-like claws, reached out and grabbed Mr. Selkirk by the leg.

"You all right?" Dean said to Sam, who nodded. Dean got up and charged the creature, swinging his tire iron at its hind leg. It flinched, but no more. Both its heads turned toward Dean, and its leg shot back, catching Dean in the shoulder . He fell as the creature lifted Mr. Selkirk above the rider's head. The mouth unhinged, Mr. Selkirk was lowered screaming, and the mouth snapped shut, biting his struggling victim's head clean off.

Ilsa screamed again, and this time Archie and Finley joined her.

"Sam! Twelve o'clock, twenty feet ahead!"

Sam nodded and ran toward the creature, leading with the straight edge of his crowbar. He crashed into it, driving the crowbar deep into its haunch.

The creature took off running, and discarded the teacher's body. It made a lap around the gym and came back toward them at full gallop. The rider screeched, a sound like running a sharpening stone across fine crystal.

"Grab another one, Sam!" Dean yelled. The creature was heading for Archie, and Dean moved to stand in front of him with his tire iron ready to swing. At the last moment, Dean stepped aside and plunged the iron into the beast's side. It continued on, heedless of the iron bars protruding from its side and rear. It reached for Archie and he swung the pry bar, batting the creature's hand away. It screeched again.

Sam appeared at Dean's side and handed him a pry bar. "Where is it?"

"It's over there, turning around and heading back this way. Sam, the iron's not having any effect on it."

"What else do we have?"

"I don't know, maybe running water will still work? Just run back to the Impala and… And grab everything!"

Sam ran off, and Dean headed toward Finley, when the creature started bearing down on him, then it turned and went for Ilsa. He quickly turned toward her but didn't get there in time. As he reached for her, she loosed her chain. It pinned the beast's arm to its torso, but it simply reached across with its other arm and grabbed her.

"No, no, no, no!" Dean yelled. He leaped at it, plunging the pry bar into the rider's torso. The creature seemed entirely unbothered. Dean was being dragged alongside the creature as he watched it raise the girl to its mouth and snap her head off. Dean was drenched in blood. He let go of the pry bar, falling behind.

Sam showed up with another bag. "Dean!" he called, and when Dean looked, he tossed him a shotgun.

Dean's face hardened. He placed himself in the creature's path again and as it approached, he emptied both barrels into its horse face.

Some of the yellow sprayed across its neck, but the creature kept coming. Dean pushed Finley, and the two rolled out of its way.

He threw the empty shotgun back to Sam. "What was that?"

"Rock salt."

"Try silver!" Sam gave him a pistol loaded with silver bullets, and took out a machete dipped in silver.

The creature charged again. "One o'clock, sixty feet and closing," Dean said. He chambered the first round, leveled his gun and emptied it into the beast.

The creature turned toward Archie. "Three o'clock! Forty feet! It's going for Archie!"

Sam charged toward Archie. Archie held his pry bar like a spear. When the creature was upon him, he fell back and plunged the pry bar upward into its belly, but the creature trampled him, ignorant of the pry bar protruding from it's belly. It turned around and grabbed Archie by the head.

"On your right! Swing, now!" Dean yelled. Sam swung, and the machete bit deep into the horse's neck and shoulder, but it didn't slow down. It galloped past him, biting Archie's head off along the way and casting his body aside.

Finley took off running.

"Finley, no!" Dean called. Sam pulled another machete out of his bag.

"Screw you guys! You can't protect me!" He ran for the broken doors leading to the parking lot. Dean and Sam ran after him, but the creature was in full gallop and passed by them. Dean emptied another clip impotently into its back.

The creature scooped Finley up just before he reached the doors. His screams were cut short when the creature bit his head off.

Sam and Dean chased out the door after it, but stopped short as car headlights caught them full in the face. Police lights came up on top of the two cars, and the brothers couldn't see anything, but they heard the car doors open, and guns being cocked.

Dean looked down at the weapons the two of them were holding, then at the body of Finley Grant laying between them and the police vehicles. He dropped his pistol, and Sam dropped the bag and the machete.

They laced their fingers behind their heads.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was in a daze. Time seemed to pass in slow motion. The sheriff and his deputies ran toward them with cuffs out and weapons drawn, but Dean could still see the nightmare creature galloping away through the gap between the cars. Mrs. Reid broke free of another deputy and ran past them, eyes streaming tears. Her lips moved, but Dean heard no sound. "My baby!" she mouthed.

One arm was wrenched behind his back, then the other, before he was lifted to his feet and pushed toward the car. The sheriff spun him around when they got there, mouthing the words, "Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

Dean nodded and was shoved into the backseat.

He saw Sam being forced into the other car, then suddenly Mrs. Reid was there again, pounding on his window with her fists, her face a mask of torture. He closed his eyes.

He saw the creature snap its jaws around Ilsa's head. Her blood drenched him. He opened his eyes again, but he was still covered in her blood.

A flash bulb went off. He was at the station, being processed. Someone ordered him to turn to the side, and he numbly complied. Someone swabbed the blood on the back of his hands, and on his face. He blinked, and in that pregnant instant he watched that creature dragging Archie's trampled remains. Someone processed his fingerprints.

"Dean! Dean!"

Dean shook his head, suddenly aware of a voice. It was Sam, calling to him, but there was something inbetween them. He touched it, and everything fell into place. They were the bars of his cell, and Sam was across the hall in his own cell. Dean shook his head again.

"Dean!" Sam called again.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here."

"Dean, snap out of it! We've got to do something!"

"I said I'm here, Sam. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, for starters, look around! You've been standing there for almost twelve hours!"

"Come on, Sam, that's not…" He saw a metal tray laying on the cot in his cell. Biscuits and gravy were cooling next to a cup of orange juice. There was a high window off Sam's cell, and sunlight was streaming in.

"Dean, you saw the headless horseman—"

"That thing wasn't headless," Dean said.

"Whatever. I couldn't see it. But the iron was useless against it. Dean, either the lore was all wrong, or this wasn't a horseman."

"You think?"

"But the hoof prints, the withered plants everywhere… What the hell was it?"

"I don't know! But I saw it. And that means it's after me next." Dean picked up his breakfast, decided he had no appetite, and dropped it back on the cot. "And we're stuck in here."

"Describe it to me."

"What? Sam, what does it matter now? Unless you've got a Get-out-of-jail-free card stashed in your prison purse, we aren't going to be hunting it any time in, say, twenty to life."

"What else are we going to do? We'll figure this out, we just need to keep focused on the job."

"Alright. Fine. First off, it only looked like a horse and rider. It was all one creature. Like a centaur, but the man part came out of the middle of the horse's back, and the horse still had a head."

"Okay, what else?"

"It was all black, and skinless. And it had these yellow veins running all over its body. The rider's head was huge, and it was just a mass of teeth. It just bit their heads off. God, I should have been able to do something."

"Keep it together, Dean, you did everything you could. We both did. Tell me more about this thing."

"Its eyes glowed red, both horse and rider. And its arms were long—I'm talking, it could reach you from here, long."

The Sheriff cleared his throat, announcing his presence. "So you boys have moved on from your headless horseman crap, and now you're talking nuckelavee."

"Knuckle-What?" Dean asked.

"Like you don't know. A nuckelavee. Still gotta be the stupidest story I've ever heard, but at least it's Scottish."

"Sheriff, this is really important. What can you tell us?"

"I can tell you that the feds are really interested in your fingerprints, Sam and Dean Winchester. I just got a frantic call to make sure I hold you until someone can get here tonight. Like I was going to let you go after killing four people. Now they tell me you two went on a killing spree, faked your own deaths, tried to assassinate the president, then you escaped federal custody by faking your own deaths—again."

"No, tell us about this creature. The Knucklehead thing."

"I just told you two murderers that the feds are coming to lock you in a cold dark hole, and you want to hear a fairy tale?"

"Humor us," Sam said. "We're not going anywhere, and you've probably been told to watch us like a hawk."

"That part at least is true. I have." The sheriff pulled a bench a little closer and sat down. "Like most stories, it's a monster meant to keep kids home at night. It's a sea creature that comes to land and hunts down people marked for death. The stories say it looks like a horse and rider, but it's all one creature—"

"Look, we know what it looks like, how do you kill it?"

The sheriff gave Dean a searing look. "You don't kill it. At least, none of the stories I've heard talk of killing it. It kills you. The only way to avoid it is by crossing running water where it can't follow. In one story, someone distracted it by accidentally splashing it with lake water, and that gave him time to cross the river."

Sam reached pleading hands through the bars. "Sheriff, think. There's got to be something more!"

The sheriff stood, tiring of the act. "There isn't anything else! Well, except something called the Sea Mither, another creature who confined it to the oceans during the summer. Nothing hurts a nuckelavee. If you're marked for death, it kills you, end of story. Come to think of it, it wasn't just people either. It killed plants too. It withered crops in its rage when people burnt kelp to make soda ash."

"Wait, why were they making soda ash?"

"As a soil amendment, I guess. It was a farming community."

"But that makes no sense. Why would this sea creature care if they put ashes on their soil? And what's the point of feeding crops that the creature is just going to kill?"

"You're not meant to question it, it's just a stupid story to frighten kids!"

"Wait," Sam said, "How did this Sea Mither confine it?"

"Who knows? It wasn't part of the stories! The Sea Mither doesn't really exist! None of this is real! And nobody but nobody is going to believe an insanity plea from you two!" The sheriff visibly calmed himself. "Now I'll be back with your lunch in an hour."

Sam and Dean waited until the sheriff was out of earshot.

"You thinking the Mither binds it with sea weed?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "And the peasants were burning kelp and spreading the ash in a protective line, kind of like a salt barrier or goofer dust."

"But how are we going to get any soda ash in here?"

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "We want to talk to our lawyer!" He turned back to Sam. "Do we know any hunters in New York?"

* * *

Sam and Dean were cuffed to a bolt next to the payphone. Sam examined the business card that Dean had handed him while Dean listened on the line.

"Yes! Hello! It's Dean, uh," he cleared his throat, looking around for any prying ears. "Agent Logan. We have a lead in this case. It can be killed with something called 'soda ash.'" Dean looked at Sam with that face he made when he was thinking up lies, and Sam's eyes narrowed in response. Dean looked away. "We've made some progress. But we've run into a bit of a snag too." He turned back toward Sam and gave him a thumbs up. "Well, the sort of snag we were hoping you could help out with, actually. Look, we've figured out how to trap the thing, only we're in jail right now."

Dean held the phone away from his ear for a moment, opening and closing his hand like the mouth of a sock puppet. "Yes, I know. No, I understand. But this thing needs killing, and we need someone to be our lawyer. No, you won't have to go to court. Okay, hang on. I'm going to hand the phone to Agent Preston. He's gonna tell you a few things in lawyer jargon."

* * *

"Oh, hell no, John," Sheriff Moore said, looking up from his crossword puzzle that evening. John André had just walked into the station with his hair combed, wearing a suit for the first time since the sheriff had met him, and holding a briefcase that looked like it might cost more than the sheriff's truck. "I don't care how fancy you dress, I don't have time to look at any more of your videos! I've got a couple murderers waiting federal extradition!"

"If you are referring to my clients, you will be careful to remember that they are 'alleged murderers' or 'accused murderers.'"

"Your clients? Since when does a Christmas tree farmer have clients?"

"I am a duly certified member of the bar of the great state of New York, and a practicing attorney for six years before moving out here, and I would like to see my clients."

The sheriff stood up and walked to the counter opposite André. "Now, I'm afraid I can't do that. I was told in strictest terms that I was not to let anyone in to see them until the Feds arrived, and that's just what I'm going to do."

The sheriff found himself looking at a tape recorder. "I would just like it on record that you are denying my clients their right to counsel. I'm certain that the Federal government will take an interest in your career once I get my clients off on a technicality because you violated due process."

"Due process? These boys killed four people, maybe six, and they tried to assassinate the president!"

"Allegedly, Sheriff Moore, practice saying it." He set down the recorder and patted his briefcase. "I'm prepared to file documents that you had insufficient Individual Suspicion at the point of your unwarranted Terry Stop."

"They were brandishing weapons and covered in the victims' blood! How much more warranted does it need to be?"

"Faretta colloquy, sheriff! Do you know what that means? It means the entire case the government has been amassing can be declared null and void if you don't let me see my clients!"

"Alright, alright," the sheriff said, holding up his hands. "But these boys have a reputation for escaping police custody. I'll let you see them, one at a time."

"That is agreeable. I'll see Agent Preston first."

"You mean Dean Winchester. They're all over AFIS. You should at least know your clients names." The sheriff walked back toward the cells, thumbing through the keys on his ring.

"Fingerprint evidence is not infallible!" André called after him.

* * *

The sheriff led Dean into the interrogation room and handcuffed him to a bolt on the table. André sat across from him with his briefcase in between them.

Once the sheriff stepped out and closed the door, André popped the locks on his briefcase, turned it around and opened it.

The briefcase was filled with a white, powdery substance. "I use this stuff around my trees. Who knew it was monster repellant. Exactly how do you intend to get this back to your cell?" the former lawyer asked.

"I tucked my pants into my socks. It may be uncomfortable as hell, but we're going to have to fill my pants," Dean said.

"I'm pretty sure this stuff is caustic. I hope you don't sweat…"

"Well, I will now. But first, we need to ward this room. Roll a piece of paper into a funnel and scoop some of that up." Dean yanked on his cuffs. "I don't suppose you have anything for these?"

"I'm a criminal lawyer, Dean, not a criminal," André said, filling a paper funnel with the soda ash.

"Okay, whatever. Now, make a line of that across the door threshold, and on the window sill."

André looked up at the window, seven feet up and about the size of a Kleenex box. "You think that monster can fit through there?"

"Rule number one with monsters. You don't take any chances."

* * *

André left the room half an hour later, careful not to disturb the line of dust as he closed the door. He walked around to the counter and set his briefcase down next to an oscillating fan that did little to alleviate the oppressive heat of the evening.

The sheriff looked up from his dinner, sighed, dropped a half eaten biscuit into a mound of succotash and stood up. "I suppose you'll be wanting to see Sam now."

"Agent Preston. Yes, in good time. But first, as defense counsel, I have the right to view all evidence you have against my clients. I would like copies of everything."

"What, now?"

"I understand there is an extradition order for tonight, so there is no other time if I am to forestall it. Yes. Now."

"But my office girl Esme's gone home! I'd have to do it all myself!"

"And I greatly appreciate your cooperation in the matter. My husband makes a mean apple pie that I'll be sure makes its way to your desk."

The sheriff sighed again and walked slowly to a bank of filing cabinets.

Before he got there, the doors to the building flew open. They both turned in surprise, and in stepped the nuckelavee, arms dragging the floor behind it and eyes glowing red. The lights flickered and died, to immediately be replaced by red emergency lighting.

"Oh my God, it's real! The nuckelavee!" the sheriff yelled.

"Where is it? I can't see it!" André yelled, backing away and holding up the briefcase defensively.

The sheriff was too awestruck to respond. He stood there with his mouth hanging open, watching the creature walk through the lobby. A machete was embedded in the creatures neck, and other implements protruded from it's belly, side, torso and haunch. It seemed oblivious of their exisitence. The horse head just seemed to be sniffing the air.

"For Judas' sake, use your gun, sheriff!" André said.

The sheriff pulled his gun from his holster in one practiced motion, but his hand shook as he brought it level. "It doesn't die, it just kills," the sheriff said in a far away voice.

It stepped into the corridor that led down to the cells, but paused at the interrogation room door. The horse head sniffed and snorted, then the rider let out a shriek. The sheriff's gun went off, putting a hole in the wall next to the nuckelavee, as he covered his ears.

André ducked. "Where is it? Tell me sheriff, where is it?"

The creature reared back and struck at the interrogation room door with its front hooves. Dean stood behind the table, yanking on the long chain of his cuffs and staring down the creature. It took a step forward, then paused, sniffing at the ground. The rider screeched again, then it reached one of its long arms forward.

As its claws crossed the threshold, the tips sizzled and glowed like coals. It snapped its arm back, the tips falling like ash to the floor. It stared at Dean, a hate filled gaze. It curled its claws into fists and slammed them against the walls on either side of the door. The plasterboard cracked and fell away, revealing the cinderblock underneath.

"It's in the hallway, but is it all the way in?" André shook the sheriff. "Is it all the way in the hallway?" he yelled.

"Yes! Yes, it's in there!" the sheriff said, he circled around to get a straight shot of it, keeping his gun leveled at it the whole time.

André pulled his funnel of paper out of his pocket and drew a line of soda ash across the hallway entrance.

The creature seemed to notice this and turned toward him.

"Hey, Sea Biscuit!" Dean yelled. He reached down into his pants and pulled out a handful of soda ash. He stood as close to the creature as his cuffs would allow, and threw the powder at it. "That's for Ilsa!"

A fine mist of ash peppered the nuckelavee's flank, burning, eating through it wherever it hit. The creature screeched again and leapt into a gallop. André and the sheriff backed away, but it skidded to a halt before it hit the line at the end of the hallway.

It turned, facing the other end of the hallway with the cells and the exit door between them.

"Sam, it's coming your way!" Dean yelled.

"You were supposed to come back with the soda ash, Dean! I've got nothing!"

"If it gets out that door, Sammy, it's gone!"

The nuckelavee galloped. Dean leapt up on top of the table, wrapped his hands around the chain on both sides, and pulled.

Sam looked around his cell for anything he could use. He spotted the metal toilet attached to the cinderblock wall. He got into a sitting position with his back against the side wall and kicked with both feet at the toilet. The metal ripped free of the bolts, exposing the pipes behind it. Sam kicked again, and the pipes split, spraying water in an arc across to Dean's cell. Water ran across the concrete floor.

The creature sat on its haunches, skidding to a stop.

One of the chain links snapped, throwing Dean to the floor. He quickly got up and ran into the hall. He saw the water pouring across the floor, and the nuckelavee struggling to right itself and turn around.

Dean looked around, assessing his situation. The creature screeched again. Dean turned to see it facing him. He stood purposefully inside the ash barrier. The sheriff and André stood just on the other side.

The nuckelavee charged. "André, pop the locks," Dean said. The nuckelavee barreled down on him.

Pip, pip went the briefcase. Dean spun, grabbed the briefcase by the handle. He continued his spin and picked up the oscillating fan with his other. The briefcase dropped open, and the soda ash fell into the blades of the fan, filling the hallway and engulfing the creature in the cloud of caustic powder.

The nuckelavee burned and writhed, sparks drifting upward from its ashen body, a pool forming below it, of yellow and black drippings. Its heads collapsed inward as it half crumbled, half melted, dropping chunks into the spreading pool of foul ichor. As the body of the beast was consumed, the legs kept moving as if trying to crawl away until they too sank beneath the bubbling soupy yellow black mess.

* * *

Sam and Dean sat in the interrogation room while the sheriff paced, an inscrutable expression on his face. They decided to look on the bright side: They weren't in cuffs.

Sam tried to explain. "I can—"

"Shut up," the sheriff said, continuing to pace.

"You see—" Dean tried.

"I will _shoot_ you," the sheriff countered.

The brothers lapsed into silence. A clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking the passage of time.

"I saw that thing," the sheriff finally said, stopping his pacing. "It was real."

"That's the thing—" Dean said. The sheriff's hand went to his gun.

"Only, everyone who sees it ends up dead."

The boys watched him silently.

"But you two killed it, so now it can't kill me."

Sam decided that nodding was his safest bet. Dean gave him a thumbs up.

"But it _was_ real. And if it was real, it's what killed all those people, not you."

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged and nodded again.

"So I've got no business holding you."

"I like where you're going with this," Dean said. The sheriff removed his hand from his holster.

"But that killing spree across six states…"

"Wasn't us," Sam said. "A couple doppelgängers working for Dick Roman." Dean nodded vigorously.

"And the president?"

"Possessed by the devil," Dean said.

"The *actual* devil," Sam added.

The sheriff went back to pacing. "I kind of always thought he might be," he said.

"So, where do we go from here?" Sam asked.

"I'll tell you what. Those black helicopters aren't getting here fast enough for my tastes. I'm pretty sure you two just saved me from a monster, and when I think about that, it makes the world a whole different place than it was yesterday. I want you two gone so I can forget about that world first chance I get."

He leaned across the table toward them. "So you put this town in your tail lights, and you never come back. When the Feds do show up, I'm going to tell them that friends of yours rolled up in a tank, and I'm going to point them toward the only road out of town, so you'd better be gone by then. This world I'm no part of seems to need people like you. It'd be a shame if they caught up."

* * *

A minute later, the Impala was crossing the covered bridge out of town, doing ninety in a twenty-five zone. Dean kept leaning close to the wheel, watching the skies.

"Hey, Dean. You never did tell me. What else is on this bucket list of yours?"

Well, there's mermaids, sphinx, lake monster, Hitler — oh, right. I got that one, didn't I. headless horseman—"

"Wait, still?"

"That thing did not count. Alright? It's my bucket list, and horseman is still on it."

"Fine. Horseman is still on it."

"What about you, Sammy? What's on your bucket list?"

Sam purses his lips, thinking it over. "You know, I'm good."

"Really? You've got nothing?"

"I don't know what to say. Opera phantom, maybe?"

"Figures it would be something girly."

"You know, maybe this is why I don't have a list."

"You can have a list. You just have to put real monsters on it."

"Yeah, like mermaids?"

"Pulling sailors to the ocean's depths? Yeah, that's pretty real." Dean got a far away look. "Half-naked, kissing them the whole way down…"

"Hey, do you hear helicopters?"

Dean panicked, looking out the windows before realizing Sam was teasing him. "You're a dick."


End file.
